


caution is calling (nobody's home)

by diydynamite (orphan_account)



Category: Cow Chop (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Fake Chop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/diydynamite
Summary: He walked into the warehouse at six, and James doesn't want to think it's him but he walks the same, talks the same, right down to the heavy Russian accent that he uses when he doesn't trust his surroundings. As if this fucking job isn't stupid and problematic enough, there has to be yet another unpredictable element thrown into the mix.





	caution is calling (nobody's home)

The air is thick with something he doesn't want to define, and the moon shines stark white through the windows of the warehouse. James knew Trevor had hired someone; he told him to bring in extra muscle for the guys they were dealing with, and he isn't sure if Trevor even knows who he's brought in, or if it's just the universe playing some kind of sick joke, but regardless, here he is. 

  
James can't look at him directly.

  
He walked into the warehouse at six, in a simple black shirt and jeans, sunglasses hiding his eyes, and James doesn't want to think it's him but he walks the same, talks the same, right down to the heavy Russian accent that he uses when he doesn't trust his surroundings. He's casual with Trevor, though, smacks him on the shoulder, and from the loft of the warehouse, James rubs his face. As if this fucking job isn't big enough and problematic enough, there has to be yet another unpredictable element thrown into the mix. He'd skulked around the loft for another half an hour, texting Brett and doing admin before Trevor finds him, somewhat annoyed. "Your hired muscle is here, fucker, stop brooding or whatever and go brief him."

Then he doesn't really have a choice. Aleks stands against a wall of the warehouse, looking perfectly at ease, but James can see the tension in his shoulders, the subtle shifts of his head that indicate his constant surveying of the area. His hair's blond and buzzed at the sides now, James notes absently, and can't help but remember the kid with tousled brown hair that got everywhere, trapped under a beanie during jobs. He can't help but remember the way tugging at it always got a reaction, depending on the setting.  
Aleks doesn't seem to react, but James sees the way his shoulders stiffen when he looks over, the slight raise of eyebrows before he controls his expression.  
"This is the Immortal." James hasn't heard that fucking name in forever, and he flinches as Trevor announces it; the kid can barely keep his voice free of excitement. "Like, the legendary Russian assassin, the Immortal."  
"Nice to meet you." Trevor blinks and stares at Aleks, probably surprised he'd slip back into his normal American accent around someone he's apparently just met, but James recognises the gesture for what it is. An olive branch.  
"You too." He drawls, refusing to lay his cards out yet. It's not that he doesn't trust Aleks, he remembers a time when Aleks was the only one he trusted, back in those days under code names in a different gang altogether. It's just that, well, he isn't sure where they stand now - in their line of work, alliances change at the drop of a hat, and he's not going to get burned twice. "Joe tell you what we're doing?"  
There it is. The telltale flinch, just a tiny quirk of his eyebrows. "No."  
Fucker doesn't even know Joe is here. James wonders how much he even knew about this job, whether Trevor hadn't just called in a favour and the universe really was this sick. He claps a confused Trevor on the back, pushes the briefing responsibility off onto him before making his escape. They still have a couple of hours to wait before it's go time, but he'll be damned if he's going to spend it in an awkward silence with his- whatever Aleks is to him.

 

-

 

2100 HRS, James' watch announces.  
"They're on their way." His walkie-talkie crackles with Asher's voice, right on time, and James gets to his feet quickly. Everyone else is shuffling into position, Anna and Jakob settling in the rafters. Joe rubs his hands together, getting into his persona, ready to front the deal, and Trevor just shifts his feet nervously, standing behind and a little to the left of James. Aleks stands to Trevor's right, and he hates how it makes him feel that much more secure.  
Then the Jeep pulls into the warehouse, and the guys get out. It's seven guys in total, not counting the driver, who stays in the car. They're all hulking figures, probably bulked up and half-crazed on steroids of some sort, and their frontman steps up with a smile hat looks more like a grimace.  
"Joe?"  
Joe laughs, fully immersed in his personality. "Hey, man! Glad you showed."  
"You got the stuff?"  
"Right in front of you, gentlemen." Joe walks them through it, all seventy pounds of cocaine, stacked on pallets. The three cases of arms they'd slipped away with during the hijack earlier in the year. The extra crate of grenades, all nestled in hay like little deadly chicks. It's almost cute, in a terrifying way.

The deal carries on, the leader bartering for a lower price while Joe laughs and deflects it, completely in his element. People rarely say no to Joe, and he's exploited the fact mercilessly. Everything seems like it's going okay, no real threats yet, but James is watching the guys the whole time, and something doesn't feel quite right. One of them keeps shifting his gaze around nervously, landing somewhere behind James before snapping away quickly, and it doesn't take a genius to realise he's looking at Aleks. He curses Trevor internally; what's the point of having a legendary fucking assassin on your side when all he's going to do is get you killed?  
"Sounds good." The man sounds reluctant, probably because Joe got him to stick to original price.   
"Alright, then we got a deal! You have the money?"  
The man lifts a briefcase, hands it over to Joe, who clicks it open, picks up a stack. James watches him run expert fingers through it, analyse the notes with an equally expert gaze, and then nod, satisfied. "Good doing business with you, boys."  
It's at this point that Shifty Eyes can't seem to hold it in anymore, darting forward to pull the frontman back by the elbow. James catches only snippets of the words he whispers, but it sounds guttural, almost foreign. The expression of the leader changes slowly, first to disbelief, then to anger and finally to suspicion, when he turns back around and stares at Aleks. Fuck.   
"Your man, there. What's his name?" The frontman gestures at Aleks, and James immediately tenses.  
"He's not part of the deal, eh?" Joe laughs again, waves it off. "No need to worry about him."  
"We're all friends here, right? I'm just curious. My brother, he thinks he recognises him."  
"He's the Immortal." Trevor blurts, and then there's silence. James watches the two men exchange a glance.  
"Immortal? My brother says he is a Russian killer. черная кошка."  
"You probably have the wrong guy. He's American, born and bred." Joe's smile has a little edge to it now.  
"You're probably right. Well, it was nice doing business, boys." The frontman grins unconvincingly. There's an awkward beat, like everyone is holding their breath, and then-

James' world is upside down, abruptly, a rough grip burying itself in his collar and yanking back, and his ears ring as a bullet narrowly misses his cheek. Then everything explodes into gunfire and shouting and confusion, and he's still reeling from the fall when the hand that pulled him down lets go, and he sees a blurred blond figure lunge over him. There's a lot of yelling, and he gets back on his feet as quickly as possible, keeping low with his gun in hand. Aleks is on the floor, rolling with one of the bulky guys, and James puts bullets in two more who're focused on the others. Trevor's screaming bloody murder, firing over and over, and James glimpses Joe, slumped against the cocaine, shooting over his head.  
It's over as quickly as it begins, and suddenly the only person still shooting is Trevor, who stops when James shouts at him. He knows, vaguely, that Anna and Jakob did their job well; even the getaway driver's slumped in his seat. Aleks is still fighting, but as James watches, he knocks the guy out cold with a solid punch and breaks his neck with a quick twist.   
"Joe got shot!" That catches his attention pretty effectively. Trevor's kneeling next to Joe behind the cocaine stacks, but when James comes over he's waved away.  
"It's just a graze, there's not that much blood."  
"Trevor, radio Asher, get him to come back in and then get Joe to Lindsey, ask her to take a look at it." He ignores Joe's protests and locks eyes with Trevor, who nods and picks up Joe without hesitation. Anna and Jakob are down, already dialling in the clean-up crew, and James sighs. At least they got the money, with the goods to boot; all in all, not terrible, although their reputation is another story. He'll have to ask Brett to spread the word about the two-faced buyers, just so their business isn't affected too badly. 

He just wants to grow this gang of misfits, just wants a fresh start after the shit that went down a couple of years ago, but it seems he just can't fucking catch a break. 

"Hey man, you alright?" A hand touches his shoulder lightly, hesitantly, and he resists the urge to shrug it off, instead James turns around, lets his gaze roam Aleks' face. He's still wearing his sunglasses, but James can see the bruise already blossoming on his cheekbone, and the bright red of his split lip that contrasts vividly with his pale skin.  
"Yeah. I'm good." There's another beat, full of tension and something he can't put his finger on. "You need a ride back?"

  
"Sure."

 

-

 

The ride back is strange; Aleks doesn't give him any directions and James doesn't ask, just heads back to his apartment, and the air is thick with unspoken words, unfinished business. They're only a couple of blocks away, which James fervently thanks whoever's watching over him for, and they're out of the car and taking the lift up in under ten minutes.

In the shadows of his apartment, Aleks looks out of place, like something foreign, strange, but James doesn't mind. The tension feels like a rubber band, primed to snap, and he barely makes it into the apartment before he's cornering Aleks against the wall, eager to see if he's the same, under that blond hair and those damned sunglasses. Those go first; he takes them off almost reverently, and Aleks stares back at him with wide brown eyes, eyes he hasn't seen in years, not since they lost everything, and the rubber band snaps.

  
James shoves him against the wall, and he goes willingly, pliant under James' demanding hands, and it stirs something up inside him, something hot and fierce and hungry. Aleks' lips part against his, and the little pained noise he makes when James nibbles on his split lip only spurs him on. Moment by moment, James learns it's still his Aleks under there, down to the way he sighs when James tugs at his hair, so short now, even the way he whines and shudders against James when he bites down on that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder, hands creeping up to pull James closer. Aleks groans soft and familiar when James reaches down to palm at him, already half-hard in his jeans, and he leans in to hiss, "I'm going to fuck you until you cry," just to see the way he squeezes his eyes shut at the words and sighs, tips his head back and exposes his throat to James in silent submission. James leans in to bite, grinds against Aleks until he chokes back a moan, murmurs pleas in a voice breathless with desperation, and then they're off, James dragging him down the hallway to his bedroom.

The marks he made on Aleks' throat are dark and damning against the moonlight shining in through his bedroom window, and he lets his gaze travel down, admiring the new tattoos that adorn his chest, the way he's spread naked and inviting on James' black covers, pale skin contrasting with the sheets in the best way possible, the tiny noises he makes as he adjusts to James' fingers.   
He twists his fingers just so and the tattoos dance as Aleks groans, hand moving to wrap around his cock, as if James would let him. He knocks the offending hand away, compensating with another finger.  
"What did that guy call you?"  
"...what?" So maybe James is being a little cruel, but it's not like Aleks is complaining, right? Or at least, not after James finds his prostate and curls his fingers against it. Aleks just shuts his eyes and moans, one forearm over his eyes, the other hand fisting the sheets tightly. "What, oh _fuck_ , what guy?"  
"The guy who knew you. He called you something like, 'chernaya koshka' or some shit like that, what's that about?"  
"Really? You want to, _ah_ , have this conversation right now?"  
"Yeah, why not?"  
"Because you could be doing better things right? Like, fucking me?" He's breathless, but James can hear the reluctance in his voice, and that just won't do.  
"I'll fuck you when you tell me. Don't make me Google Translate that shit." He rubs his fingers against the small bump inside Aleks, a little harder, a little faster, because James has never been above playing dirty, and Aleks curls in, gasping wet and quiet, a pretty flush spreading down his neck and chest.  
"Okay, okay, he, fuckin', he called me черная кошка. It means, uh. Black cat. I used it as a code name when I was in Russia."

Aleks doesn't seem to want to meet his eyes, and all of a sudden, James knows why.  
He doesn't think about the golden days that often, before everything went to shit, a couple of years ago, but a specific memory floats to the surface instantly. A quiet afternoon with video games after a job, with Aleks curled into his side exactly like a cat. He remembers running his fingers through messy brown hair, remembers murmuring 'little kitten' over and over teasingly. It'd caught on after that, and James hadn't thought much of it, the pet name slipping out of his mouth naturally. Thinking back now, it startles a laugh out of him. "You sentimental bastard."

Still, it sets something off inside him, and he slicks up his cock with a sudden, inexplicable urgency, and slides in so roughly it jolts a yelp out of Aleks. James ignores it, setting up a punishing rhythm that has Aleks wailing on every thrust, jerking against him, begging when he can find the words and straight up moaning when he can't. James bats his arm away from his face, takes in the way his eyes squeeze shut; he presses his thumb into the bruise on his cheekbone and leans in to kiss him. It's oddly satisfying to feel Aleks twitch against him, whimpering in half-pain, half-pleasure, hands fluttering like they don't know whether to pull him closer or push him away. James breaks the kiss but stays close, croons against his lips, "Still my little kitten, after so long?"   
Aleks' lips part, and his head tips back, and right there James learns that Aleks still makes the same noise before he comes, a needy whine that has him reaching down to wrap his fist around Aleks' cock. The sound, combined with Aleks clenching tight around him as he comes, tips James over the edge as well, and he bites Aleks to muffle his groan.

James pulls out a minute later, slumping to the side, and they lie in comfortable silence for a beat before he can't help but giggle. Aleks looks over hazily.  
"I can't believe you fucking called yourself Black Cat in Russian, what, Immortal wasn't cool enough for you? You had to be some shitty knockoff of Catwoman?"  
"Fuck off, dude."

They fall asleep with limbs tangled, still in a sweaty pile, and James can't bring himself to mind. 

-

They're late to work the next day, and Aleks follows him in without a word, gets into his car and hums absentmindedly when James asks if this means he's joining their crew. Still, the look of horrified realisation and shattered dreams Trevor gives them when they trail in, Aleks covered in hickeys and wearing one of James' old shirts, is absolutely, absolutely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments always appreciated :)


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